


The Case of The Missing Flour (And Pans, And Oil, And Other Assorted Ingredients)

by Bhelryss



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Noir, Aradia Megido - Freeform, Equius Zahhak - Freeform, Gen, Humanstuck, Kanaya Maryam (mentioned) - Freeform, Latula Pyrope - Freeform, Nepeta Leijon - Freeform, Porrim Maryam (mentioned) - Freeform, Pre-Femslash, Tavros Nitram - Freeform, Vriska Serket (mentioned) - Freeform, cameo of, kankri vantas - Freeform, mituna captor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:33:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7536520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bhelryss/pseuds/Bhelryss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a remix of AradialSymmetry's "Crocker-Pyrope Investigative Services, LLC" set in a Noir Alternate Univers, compounded further by making everyone human. Even the scalemates.</p>
<p>Jane Crocker's bakery has been subjected to thefts. Unable to find the responsible parties, she reaches out to Private Investigator Terezi Pyrope. Together they track down the responsible person(s), and see justice done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Case of The Missing Flour (And Pans, And Oil, And Other Assorted Ingredients)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AradialSymmetry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AradialSymmetry/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Crocker-Pyrope Investigative Services, LLC](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2628794) by [AradialSymmetry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AradialSymmetry/pseuds/AradialSymmetry). 



_ The mid afternoon sun drips through the closed blinds in slats of liquid yellow light. Detective Terezi Pyrope, formerly of the Alternian Police force, leans against the wall. In the room adjacent to her office she can hear the click click clicking of Mr. Vantas’ typewriter, writing up a report from her last case. The case in question hadn’t started too oddly, she muses, flicking a quarter over and back across her knuckles.  _

_ (Heads, tails, heads, tails. Justice. Mercy. Here’s how it began.) _

Ms. Crocker was an heiress to old money, curves all over the place and sinfully red lips. Not that Terezi Pyrope, known as Blind Lady Justice to the private eye community, could see that. She had smelled like trouble: a subtle floral perfume, just a whiff of something homey, and the subtlest metallic tang of iron-based ink. 

It was always the dames, Terezi had mused dramatically, that caused the most trouble. 

But Ms. Crocker had entered the slightly tattered looking offices of Pyrope Investigative Services, ringing the bell attached to the door, and had leaned over Mr. Vantas’ desk. “I’m in need of Ms. Pyrope’s services,” she had said, voice carrying so that even Terezi, in the adjacent room, could hear her. “It’s urgent.”

“Do you have a fu- do you have an appointment.” Karkat had started to snarl, before probably tucking his thumbs beneath his suspenders and smoothing his other fingers over the fabric. It was a nervous habit, something he’d picked up ages ago to help corral his temper. She could almost hear the near-silent swish the fabric would make, so common was the gesture.

“No,” the yet-unrevealed potential customer had said, sounding affronted for a second. “But I truly do need her assistance, I can pay her well for her time.” Ms. Crocker had said, voice turning flat with her final words. Perhaps Mr. Vantas’ secretarial attitude left something to be desired. Or perhaps she just really needed a private detective. “Is she in?”

Mr. Vantas made a loud reply that was muffled by Ms. Crocker’s hands slamming down on the desk. Whispered words, ones she hadn’t caught. Followed by the click of her heels on the uncarpeted flooring (a hard, cold cement bare except for the rugs underneath the major pieces of furniture), and a pregnant silence when Ms. Crocker stopped in the doorway. “Ms. Pyrope,” she’d said, and there hadn’t been a trace of hardness in her voice. 

Terezi hadn’t been able to resist smiling, she liked this dame already. “That’s me,” she’d said, following it up with a throaty cackle. “What can I do you for, Ms. ?”

“Crocker,” Ms. Crocker supplied easily.

“Ms. Crocker. What brings you to Pyrope Private Investigations?”

It was the start of a pleasant, if brief, partnership, not that Terezi had known that at the time. Ms. Crocker, while a stunning heiress, had a penchant for trousers and sensible shoes, and an admitted interest in the detective sciences. She showed up to their next meeting, according to the ever useful Mr. Vantas, wearing a tie and dress shirt tucked into a pair of stunningly blue slacks all underneath a practical rain coat.

The rain had made her late, and Terezi entered the uptown bakery right behind Karkat during a brief lull in the downpour. After shaking the water off her umbrella, Terezi walked through the door and pushed her way past Officer Zahhak (who was very seriously examining the pastries in the display case, and questioning his partner, Officer Leijon about which to buy) and into the kitchen. Despite the thefts, the kitchen still ran as normal and the room smelled of fresh bread. It was mouth watering.

“Remind me, Ms. Crocker, what has happened here.” Terezi prompted, and from behind her she could hear Mr. Vantas pulling out his notepad. A reliable assistant, if loud and brusque at times. Leaning back on one leg, she propped a fist on her hip and very intentionally cocked her head to the side.

“Well, it all started three days ago, when I stopped by to check the books.” Ms. Crocker started, her sensible shoes making much less noise than the heels she had worn to P.P.I’s offices as she strode over to the countertops. “I noticed some troubling discrepancies, you see, and I found that there have been entire truck loads of ingredients disappearing. Normally not all at once, but half a truck’s inventory didn’t make it to the pantries two weeks ago and then just last week four sacks of flour were unaccounted for at least. And while the police have been so very helpful, they’ve regretfully had to withdraw their assistance after the murders downtown. You can understand the problem, I trust.” 

Terezi could. For a bakery chain, such a loss was indeed troubling. It was obviously enough to warrant a professional’s involvement, especially since the police had already seen fit to inform the intrepid Ms. Crocker that they could not help her further. “I see. And you’ve ruled out some suspects already?” She prompted Jane, walking the heiress through the events once more. 

It never hurt to be overly thorough. (Unless you were a perpetrator, just ask Senator Lenin Snout’s son, who had followed in his father’s embezzling footsteps.) “Oh, yes!” Ms. Crocker enthused, drumming her fingers against the countertops once, twice, three times as she thought about the question. 

“Well it isn’t me,” she said easily, “and it isn’t my cousin, John. Neither of us have anything to gain from the thefts, the delivery trucks are not insured against larceny. Something I believe we will rectify in the future.” Terezi frowned, and snapped her fingers at Mr. Vantas. Karkat scribbled something down dutifully, and turned the page. Once the crinkle of the paper had lapsed, Terezi motioned for Jane to continue.

“But other than that, I’m afraid I have no idea. I thought perhaps the next step would be to interview employees, but I didn’t wish to begin without you.” Jane had thought right. The next step would be to interrogate - whoops, “interview” the employees. The next most likely perpetrators.

They cornered the driver in question first. The nervous man went by the name of T. Nitram, and co-drove the Crocker Bakery trucks with one Miss V. Serket. “Mr. Nitram,” Terezi drawled, listening to his prosthetic legs clack nervously against the hard floor. “What do you know about the contents of your truck going missing?”

“Missing?” He stuttered, voice vibrating with stress. “But we’ve always checked in, and the foodstuffs are always offloaded, you can check the books.” Jane, to Terezi’s left, shifted forward, and Tavros . “Honest, Ms. Boss - Ms. Crocker, I always made sure to check in with the shift managers, you can check in with them!” 

Mr. Nitram had known nothing, that much was evident by the end of the interrogation. Mr. Vantas expressed a small measure of disdain, but Terezi didn’t care - so she didn’t ask. Once they cleared Mr. Nitram, Terezi turned to Jane. “Shift managers?”

“Mituna Captor and Latula Pyrope - a cousin of yours, maybe? - are the managers.” Jane said, and led them to the small office that the managers shared. Second cousin, Terezi had thought without real inflection, as they pushed the door open. Jane had been able to see clearly that Captor and Latula were necking unrepentantly on their desk, and Captor had blushed prettily from his position on the desk underneath Terezi’s cousin.

“Terezi!” Latula said brightly, not noticing (or caring) that her carefully applied lipstick was smeared. “What brings you to my workplace, cousin? And with my boss, no less!” Mr. Captor attempted to rearrange his clothes so that he looked less rumpled, with little success. The questioning led them nowhere. All products had indeed been properly logged, and then passed onto various employees to be stored. Never the same single employee, and always a group of them. 

Nothing specifically stood out as suspicious.

From behind the closed door, once Crocker and Pyrope had exited, a high pitched giggle reached their ears. “It’s not my business, what they do on their breaks.” Ms. Crocker said, though the twist to her voice indicated some negative emotion. They shared a shudder, and moved on.

The search turned up nothing. A cold case, Terezi had thought for a moment, disappointed. As far as she could tell, there were no further leads to pursue. A few employees hadn’t been at work for the questioning, but of the three, one had been ill with the flu for two days (documented by paperwork and a second employee who had been checking in on the sick one), and the other two had put in their month’s notice of severance approximately a month ago.

And, while the thefts had been seemed to have begun about a month ago, that didn’t necessarily lay any suspicion at their feet. “I’m afraid the case may be cold,” Jane admitted, sounding contrite. “At this point the only thing left to do is add more security to the shipments.” The frustration bleeding into her voice was palpable.

Didn’t necessarily…what was that old saying? Never leave any stone unturned? “Well…” Terezi said, drawing out the word. “There’s one more lead we can check.” 

The Maryam residence was three blocks from the bakery, apartments over an empty storefront lining a dingy road in a working class neighborhood. Mr. Vantas followed behind the intrepid duo of Crocker and Pyrope, nervously swearing under his breath about the insanity of detectives and detective want-to-be’s.

“Here’s their listed address,” Ms. Crocker said, accompanied by the sound of her coat shifting as she thrust her hands into the deep pockets. It’s their last lead, and apparently Crocker wasn’t feeling optimistic. A pause, “It looks nice,” she said politely. 

“It doesn’t.” groused Mr. Vantas, still a step behind Terezi with his notebook in hand. Terezi barked a laugh, and Karkat snapped out, “Oh don’t you start!” He hadn’t been any fun today, cutting her off before she could make any wisecracks about being blind. “Let’s just get this over with.”

No fun at all.

The door opened a crack after Ms. Crocker knocked, the jingle of the safety chain just barely audible, and the smell of cinnamon so strong that Terezi grimaces and takes a step back. “Hello, Ms. Maryam,” Crocker says sweetly, all business and completely unperturbed by the baking smells assaulting their senses. “We’re sorry to intrude, but can we come in?”

“Oh, Ms. Crocker!” came the voice. It was throaty and soft, and Terezi had thought she could detect a hint of reluctance. “I don’t think so. Kanaya caught the flu from Casey I think, you know how she’s been out sick recently. You really shouldn’t come inside -” A clang had sounded from behind the open wedge of door.

“Kanaya-” Porrim snapped, voice pitching higher in worry, and turned away from the door to disappear further inside. Jane was close behind her, having pushed the door fully open (with a telltale creaking sound) and striding inside. Karkat, grumbling, touched Terezi on the elbow to let her know he was taking the lead, and she followed after him.

From the way her toes managed to find what must have been literally everything littering the floor, Terezi decided the Maryam apartment was cluttered. With a constant commentary on the state of the interior, too low and breathy to be properly audible, Karkat led Terezi through the maze of obstacles. After the fourth or so time she rammed her toes into something  _ aggravatingly solid _ , Jane’s voice rose above even Karkat’s grumbling.

“-And! This belongs to the bakery!” Ms. Crocker wasn’t quite yelling, but it was a near thing. “You were stealing, this whole time-” a clanging. Something shrill and unintelligible, followed by a garbled mix of angry voices. 

“Mr. Vantas-” Terezi said, eyebrows rising in surprise. He touched her elbow again and disappeared from her side, and his distinctive voice was added to the mess of noise coming from yet further inside the home. Gingerly making her way towards the noise and the affronted screeches, Terezi Pyrope, Private Eye, stubbed her toes on no fewer than eight things littering the ground.

What Terezi can’t see, once she finally made it to the kitchen where the Maryams, Ms. Crocker, and Mr. Vantas were embroiled in something seven parts screaming match, one part attempted violence and two parts made up entirely of Karkat trying to keep both parties from escalating further, is the Crocker Bakery branded pots sitting on the stoves and the commercial sized sacks of baking ingredients practically spilling out of the cabinets. “I’ve called the police,” Mr. Vantas had snarled over Crocker’s aggressive spluttering and one of the Maryam’s just as aggressive stream of....French? Something foreign.

Knowing better than to involve herself in the middle of something she  _ can’t _ see coming, Terezi moved away from the walkway with one hand keeping contact with the wall. She doesn’t move too far, not knowing what exactly might come from the unknown that is the remainder of the Maryam’s apartment, but just far enough that any police who arrived shouldn’t trip over her.

Sure enough, ten to fifteen minutes later the door is kicked open, and she felt a rush of air when they ran by and the indistinct voices of three officers joined the fray of snarling in the kitchen. Someone blew a whistle, shrill and attention-grabbing. “Everyone step away from each other, please, I am Officer Vantas and you’re all under arrest!” Terezi heard Karkat shriek a protest at what was undoubtedly his older brother, and snickered at him quietly. “Officer Megido please handcuff the ladies present while I read them their rights.”

“Officer Vantas, Officer Megido.” Terezi said, catching their attention. “Ms. Crocker and Mr. Vantas are both with me, as we were investigating a case of theft. Misses Maryam here have evidence that links them to said thefts. It would be greatly appreciated if you were to take just them into custody.” 

And they did, and the Maryam sisters were sentenced fairly. And Ms. Crocker had stood in front of the detective, once the case was finished, and clasped their hands together. “Thank you so much, Detective Pyrope, I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you.” And she squeezes once, twice, and releases their hands.

They’d just watched the bailiff, Haban Nero-Spines, escort the defendants out after sentencing, and Ms. Crocker had quite fervently thanked both Mr. Vantas and Terezi herself. “I wouldn’t have been able to track them down alone, thank you again.” She pressed something wrapped and smelling of cinnamon and warm oven-foods into the detective’s hands, and then turned to do the same to Karkat.

And, with a bright smile, Ms. Crocker had left them.

_ That had been about three days ago, not surprising given the intrepid team of Pyrope and Vantas’ auspicious record for pushing paperwork back weeks if not days. A knock interrupts Terezi’s thoughts, and Mr. Vantas stops typing in the other room. Briefly, his chair squeaks across the uncarpeted floor, and the bell hanging above the door jingles when it’s opened. Quiet for several minutes, and then Terezi hears Karkat’s shoes tapping across the floor just a second before he speaks. _

_ “Mail for you, Terezi.” He says, and there’s the rustle of paper as Karkat opens it. “It’s from Ms. Crocker…” He pauses, and scuffs a shoe against the floor. “An open invitation to lunch on Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, if that’s fucking ‘amenable’. Rich people.” He scoffs openly. “Anyway, she says she always takes lunch at the… _

_ “Oh no fucking way. At the goddamn Ritz, and that if you ask for her table you’ll be escorted right in.” He makes a noise not unlike a trumpet, and falls silent for a moment. “Anyway that was it. You warn me if I’m supposed to be dragging our collective fucking asses around town, okay?” _

_ Terezi chuckles, deep in her throat. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your unders in a bunch.” She feels her way back to her chair and sinks into it. Interesting! So interesting. She would have to take Ms. Crocker up on her offer.  _

_ Flicking her quarter back and forth again over the backs of her knuckles, Terezi cracked a wide smile. Yes, she would have to take Ms. Crocker up on her offer. “Clear our schedules for Friday lunches, Karkat.” Still chuckling, she leans into the warmth of the afternoon sun. _

_ She could tell that there would be more Pyrope and Crocker adventures yet to come, this case had only been the start of what would surely be a beautiful partnership. _


End file.
